


The Things We Thought That We Should Do

by wendelah1



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: femgenficathon, Gen, Post-Series, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-29
Updated: 2009-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-04 00:03:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendelah1/pseuds/wendelah1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diana Fowley contemplates her past as an F.B.I. Agent, and a member of the Syndicate, her present life as a fugitive, and her future as a woman living with breast cancer. This is an alternative universe in which, among other things, Diana does not die at the end of Amor Fati.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Thought That We Should Do

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Everywhere of Silver](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23776) by [wendelah1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendelah1/pseuds/wendelah1). 



> This story is a prequel to _An Everywhere of Silver_, written as speculation fic for last summer's _The X-Files: I Want to Believe_; however, reading it requires no prior knowledge of either the film or the earlier story. My thanks to hummingfly for her last minute beta services and to gehayi for her understanding in allowing me to post this late. Much love to idella for her insightful feedback, her support, and for loving to read stories about Diana.

"There is small disproportion betwixt a fool who useth not wit because he hath it not and him that useth it not when it should avail him." -- Elizabeth I of England (1533-1603), queen of England.

 

When Diana found out that the lump in her breast was cancer, it did not come as a complete surprise. She knew it was a possibility, of course. She hadn't had a mammogram or any other kind of regular medical care since her "death" nine years earlier. By saving a man's life, she had nearly forfeited her own, slipping into the existence of a person living on the margins of society. Taking care of her health was a luxury she could no longer afford. Staying alive meant that she moved frequently, rented cheap apartments, and took the jobs that transients do: waiting on tables, clerking at Walmart, factory piecework. Though none of these jobs paid enough to live on, Diana had not been stupid. Given her occupation, it had seemed prudent to keep some money in various accounts under different names. She hadn't enough to live well, but she certainly could keep from being homeless, as long as she was careful. Since the world was scheduled to end in a few short years anyway, what did it matter? So she indulged herself upon occasion with a decent bottle of wine, a ticket to a movie or a play, lunch at a nicer restaurant than she could afford. What she could not afford to indulge in was friendship. Fortunately, she was very self-sufficient. There had been very few people in the world she truly cared for, and most of them were already dead. Except for Fox.

After Diana was recruited by the Syndicate to spy on Special Agent Fox Mulder, her employers had given her clear instructions: get close to him, sleep with him if necessary to distract him, but under no circumstances encourage his interest in the paranormal. She didn't understand why they had enlisted her for their cause if they didn't want Mulder to be working on paranormal cases. After all, that was her area of expertise; her graduate work was in parapsychology, her thesis was on "Communion and Transformation: The Alien Abduction Experience," she had worked with a pioneer in the field, Heitz Werber.

"Because Mulder is smart. He won't believe you are invested in the work, invested in him, if you are lying. He'll do a thorough background check, of course. But he's a very intuitive man. You'll need to be very clever to pull this off. I wonder if you're really up for the job." The Smoking Man took a drag off his omnipresent cigarette as he stared at her.

She stared back, unblinking. We'll see about that.

"Of course, you are his physical type: tall, long legs, large breasts, dark hair--and just a little too cold for most men's tastes. That's what Mulder's been used to for most of his life." The man took another drag, and then exhaled. Diana watched the thin tendrils of grey smoke drift upwards. He wasn't an unattractive man, but the way he looked at her...ugh.

"Don't be too available to him, emotionally. He'll lose respect for you," he said, suddenly dropping his cigarette to the floor and grinding it under one heel. "Keep your distance. He'll stay more interested."

As a plan, it had some problems, but it might have worked, if Fox were a different sort of man. If she were a different sort of woman. Instead, upon discovering her academic background, Fox began reading the literature, asking her detailed questions. He met with Dr. Werber and eventually underwent regression hypnosis. Those sessions led him to what was to become the central belief of his life: his sister Samantha had not merely been kidnapped. She had been abducted by aliens.

"But that isn't even what really happened to her?" Was it? Diana considered herself a believer but even she had her limits.

"No. Of course not." The Smoking Man smiled.

"Is she still alive?" She was curious how much he would reveal to her about the Project and the Mulder family's tragic role in it.

"That is--complicated," he drawled, sucking in another drag.

Not much. "So, why does it matter if he believes she was abducted by aliens?" Diana wondered what he meant by complicated. Either you were dead or you weren't.

"Oh, trust me. It matters a great deal. In any case, you have been relieved of your assignment. Go home, break off your--relationship--with him. You have been transferred to Berlin, effective immediately."

This was not supposed to happen. The life she had carefully crafted to achieve her goals was being dismantled right before her eyes. "But--" She stopped. No. That would reveal something she needed to keep private. Something she had barely admitted, even to herself.

"We have another job for you, Diana. But your work here is done."

Diana composed herself. "What is going to happen to him?"

The Smoking Man's eyes narrowed slightly. "That is no longer your concern. He is too talented, potentially too valuable, for the F.B.I. to let go of him that easily. So he is going to get what he wants--the X-Files--a division created for him to head. Soon another agent will be assigned as his partner. A young woman, a scientist, will be given the job to debunk his work, discredit him, and steer him back toward more conventional methods of investigation."

That isn't going to work, she had thought triumphantly. It will only make Fox more determined than ever to find the truth. They don't really know him at all.

*****

Even in her present circumstances, Diana was able to keep some of her sources. She had a P.O. Box under an alias that she checked periodically, a regular email address and a secure email account she accessed at the local branch library of whatever town she was living in. She wasn't able to contact any of them frequently, but she managed to keep herself in the outermost loop. She knew about Fox's brain inflammation, his abduction, his death, and his improbable resurrection. She knew that upon his return, he had been reinstated as a Special Agent and just as quickly, had disobeyed the orders of his superiors, resulting in his being dismissed from the F.B.I. She knew also that his former partner, Dana Scully, had given birth to his son and that she had given William up for adoption when Fox had gone missing again. Although Diana hadn't children of her own, she knew something about loss. There are some losses that a woman never gets over. Somehow you get through the pain, you go on with your life, but the grief stays with you, changing your feelings and actions in subtle and not-so-subtle ways.

Diana closed her eyes, leaned back, and rested her head against the wall in back of the waiting room's chair. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm and in control.

"Mrs. Johnson." Diana looked up at the nurse, gathered her things and followed her into the treatment room. "How are you doing?" The nurse, Carolyn, took her over to the recliner in the corner, put her coat over the back and settled her purse.

"Not too bad this week. The new pill seemed to help the nausea more than the first one you gave me. I do feel tired. How are my counts?" Diana extended her arm so that Carolyn could attach the small catheter in its crook to the thin plastic tubing that was hanging from the small pump on the pole by her side. She smelled the alcohol that Carolyn used to clean the hub, tasted the saline in her mouth, felt the slight flutter in her chest as the nurse slowly flushed the line. Such a strange sensation. Then Carolyn injected the other drugs; first, a mild sedative, then the anti-nausea medication. Diana would need to stay a bit longer than usual to allow the effects to wear off enough to allow her to drive herself home.

"Mrs. Johnson, are you sure there is no one we can call for you? No one who can take you home?" Ruth, the clinic's social worker, had questioned her when her nurse had called her after the first treatment. Even if she hadn't been a fugitive, who could she have called on? Her parents were both gone, she was an only child. There was a cousin in California, but it had been years since they had last spoken. Living in Europe had forced her to cut what remaining ties she had had in the States.

"Okay. Your infusion is complete. I'll walk you back to the waiting area; I've saved a comfy chair for you. Just let me know when you're ready to leave and I'll call for the wheelchair." Carolyn smiled as she settled Diana back in the chair. The nurse was not a young woman, but she was younger than Diana, by maybe ten years. She had long, honey blonde hair, (tinted, Diana noted, with a practiced eye) that she kept pinned back with small plastic clips and fastened into a ponytail. Her eyes were a clear, warm brown, and she had that freshly scrubbed look that nurses seemed to favor.

"I won't need one," Diana said automatically. "But thank you," she added. "You are always very kind to me. Thank you for that."

Carolyn looked surprised, then gratified. "Well, you're welcome." She placed a foam pillow in back of her head, draped a blanket from the warmer over Diana's legs, and tilted the chair back into the reclining position. The warmth and softness of the flannel felt so good. "Try to rest. I won't let you sleep past closing time," Carolyn teased gently.

"I know," Diana murmured, already drifting off again. In a couple of hours, she would wake up, refuse the wheelchair, drive herself home, take a pill to combat the inevitable nausea, and collapse into a dreamless sleep.

*****

The man sitting across from her was the medical oncologist her surgeon had referred her to after the biopsy results had come back showing cancer. Or so they had thought.

"We aren't exactly sure what we have here," Dr. Lee said earnestly. "We sent the slides to our pathologist who sent them to another pathologist who sent them on to Johns Hopkins. These cells show some characteristics that are abnormal even for cancer cells. This is not any of the usual types of breast cancer or even a rare variety."

"What are you saying exactly?" The air in the room seemed thicker, as though time itself was turning into solid matter. Diana heard her heart beating, and found her hands gripping the chair arms, as if to anchor her. She struggled to focus.

"What I am saying is that your case is complicated by the absence of any guidance regarding the type of treatment that will be most effective. Do not misunderstand me: we will treat your cancer. But there is no blueprint to follow. We will be breaking new ground here." The doctor sounded excited, though he was keeping it muted.

She tried to stay impassive but her voice broke a little as she spoke. "So what now?"

"We know the cancer has spread, so we will determine how far, and then we will treat this disease aggressively." The doctor continued to talk but she had stopped listening. The doctor's phrase was reverberating in her brain. Abnormal even for cancer cells? If she was right about the nature of that abnormality, no treatment the doctor could devise could cure her.

"Mrs. Johnson? This has been a lot to take in. We'll talk more at your next treatment appointment." He pushed back from his desk and stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. Diana stood slowly, reaching for her coat and purse. "My nurse will take you back to reception to make that appointment. There are some tests I want you to get in the interim. Janine will help get those set up for you and Carolyn will draw your blood."

Her mind racing over the events of the past twenty years, she walked up to the front desk, where she was asked to wait again in the reception area to be called.

What had she been exposed to, when had it happened? She knew who was responsible, of that there could be no doubt. But how did they manage it? She had never been abducted, she had no experiences of missing time, she had never been infected with the black oil, she had had no chips implanted in her neck or removed.

"Mrs. Johnson, can you come back in now?" Carolyn beckoned her.

She sat with her arm extended, the tourniquet wrapped tightly around her upper arm, watching as the multi-colored vials filled with her blood, when suddenly it came to her. The vaccine. Like everyone else working for the Syndicate, she had received an inoculation of the Russian version of the serum after it cured that bitch Covarrubias of the virus, back in 1999, before everything in her life went to hell. Could the vaccine have caused her cancer?

After sending out a flurry of inquiries, she started compulsively checking her email, stopping at the library at least twice a day. Finally the message she had been expecting arrived.

_D. Sorry to hear of your illness. You are the first person to be diagnosed with any kind of cancer, that I am aware of, at least. I doubt it had anything to do with what you were worried about. I will let you know if I hear anything to the contrary._

_I do have news about an old friend. You knew he had split up with his partner and why. They've been separated ever since but someone has decided to try to change that. I will let you know when I hear more. Get some sleep. L._

Liesl worked in one of the Syndicate's research facilities in Maryland. Diana had gotten to know her while she working in Germany and had recruited her from Roche to work on the vaccine. If anyone in that organization was capable of telling the truth, it was Liesl. Well. So at least it wasn't of alien origin. That was a relief.

As to her other news, someone was trying to reunite Fox with Dana Scully? That made no sense. The Syndicate had him right where they wanted him: in hiding and alone. Dr. Scully was practicing medicine again, in a rural hospital in W. Virginia. If Diana didn't know better, she would swear they had engineered their separation. Why would they want the former partners back together? She sent off another set of emails, checked out the library's single copy of "Breast Cancer, Beyond Convention" and headed home. It wasn't that she didn't trust her doctor, but it wouldn't hurt to see what alternative medicine had to offer. Then she needed to figure out how she was going to pay for it.

For the first time since she had met Dana Scully, the woman who had taken her place in Fox's life, first as his partner, then as his lover, she felt empathy for what had been done to her by the Syndicate. Though she was not directly responsible for what had happened to the other agent, Diana was part of the organization that had engineered her abduction, subjected her to tests, stolen her ova and given her cancer. Of course, they had also seen that she recovered, thanks to Fox Mulder. Unfortunately, she had no hero searching tirelessly for her cure, ready to risk his career and his life, breaking into the Department of Defense with nothing more than stolen credentials and reckless devotion. So, she would have to get through this on her own, just as she always had. The last time she had believed she might be able to depend on someone was when she was with Fox.

******

The men who ran the Syndicate were not micro-managers. How best to initiate a relationship with her subject had been left up to her judgment. She read through his file, did some routine surveillance, picked out an outfit, unbuttoned the two top buttons on her blouse, and applied her make-up. There was a popular nightspot, Casey's Bar, where Mulder and some of other agents from the Behavioral Science Unit liked to congregate. After a couple of nights of sitting alone, nursing her glass of Merlot, she spotted him looking around for a table. As he was making his way toward it, she glanced at him, made eye contact, and then quickly lowered her eyes. She'd seen his photos but they had never met in person. She worked for domestic terrorism; he was part of the violent crimes division.

Instead of taking a table, he sat down on the stool next to hers, at the end of the bar, ordered a single malt scotch she'd never heard of--Ben Nevis--then proceeded to entertain her with arcane facts about the beverage, including that the distillery in Scotland had been used a number of times as a movie set. She had never met anyone with a mind quite like his, with his ability to take dozens of seemingly unrelated facts and observations, and synthesize them into something new. His pick-up lines were pretty routine, though. He'd asked her for a cigarette, then a couple of beats later, after fumbling for an imaginary match, he'd asked her for a light.

She smiled. "Sure, why not. I'm easy." He had smirked a little and then accepted her light.

Getting him to take her to bed had been the easy part. Spender was right: she was his type. He was young, lonely, working too hard, smoking too much, and drinking every night. He was an enthusiastic if somewhat insecure lover, although that was easily handled. Sex with Fox Mulder was a job perk, not a chore. Apparently, the woman he had been with in England, Phoebe something, was quite a handful. Getting him to trust her had been more difficult than Diana expected, but eventually, she won him over with her admiration and caring. This was not difficult either, since she did admire him, for his intellect and his wit, for his dedication, and even for his relentless, reckless pursuit of the truth. She did care about him, too, far more than she was supposed to.

What had they been to one another? It was a question she had never allowed herself to ask. After all, it wasn't supposed to matter. He wasn't supposed to matter, though her heart told her otherwise. Still, when it came down to choosing between love and duty, she chose duty. When told to leave him, she had done as she was asked, and left for Europe. It amazed her that a man so perceptive could miss the signs of an imminent departure. But by that time, Fox had found the X-Files, and despite her attempts at discouraging him, he was consumed with what he saw as a path to finding his sister. Her opposition created friction between them, too, which at least gave her an excuse to leave. Apparently, at least in his view, she wasn't supposed to ever disagree with him.

She waited until the last possible moment to tell him, the day her plane was leaving. She knew it would seem cruel but she was afraid if she told him in advance, he would try to talk her out of it. He might have succeeded, too, except she knew that never would have been allowed. He didn't try to stop her. Maybe he had been expecting she would leave all along.

She had chosen her side; moreover, she had believed she was doing the right thing. Wasn't it better to make sacrifices to try to save some portion of humanity than to allow its certain extinction by an alien invasion?

******

At her sixth appointment, she had to wait longer than usual at the clinic, which was puzzling as it seemed no busier than usual. The waiting area seemed chillier than usual, too. Despite the heavy winter coat, and the scarf and knitted cap she was wearing to cover her head, she felt cold. Carolyn's face looked worried when she called her in; instead of taking her the treatment room, she had Diana follow her directly to Dr. Lee's office. Before she opened the door, Carolyn stopped her. "Don't leave without stopping by my station. There is something I need to talk to you about, too," she said softly.

The doctor was seated but stood when Diana entered, gesturing for her to take a seat. "There is no good way to say this so I'm not going to mince words with you. I've been following something in your blood work that we think is a tumor marker. For a while, the levels went down, in response to the treatments you received. But after your last round of chemo, the levels went up, which may mean the tumor has begun to grow again. We will have to confirm this with more tests but I think we will hold off further treatment until we see what those can tell us. After that, we will decide together what to do next. I am sorry, Mrs. Johnson. This is not what I wanted to see."

As the doctor continued to talk, Diana sat quietly. If she tried to say anything now, she was afraid she might break down, and that was not acceptable. When it seemed as though he was done, she stood up and turned to leave. "Don't forget to stop at the desk so that Janine can set up your next appointments," he called after her. She was walking quickly toward the exit, so that she could be alone, when Carolyn stepped in front of her.

"Mrs. Johnson? Please, don't go yet. I need to tell you something." When Diana shook her head, she added, "Please, it's important." She pulled her into an exam room and shut the door.

"Can't this wait? I have to leave now. I have somewhere I need to be," Diana lied.

Carolyn looked exasperated. "Fine. But there was a man here yesterday, looking for you, or at least someone who looked like you. He showed us a picture, left a card and told us to call him if someone named Diana Fowley came in." At Diana's startled look, she said, "Don't worry. We didn't tell him anything. Patient confidentiality laws, you know."

Diana snapped back into focus. "Where is the card? Let me see it. What did he look like?"

"The card's in my wallet. Janine said I should take it. We didn't tell anyone else, we wanted to talk to you first. This is what he looked like." She took her phone off of her waistband, pushed some buttons. "I ran after him and snapped his picture in the parking lot. It's from pretty far away." That didn't matter, Diana would recognize him anywhere. The Alien Bounty Hunter. Damn.

"Is he your ex-husband? Is that your real name? You're not in the Witness Protection program, are you?" Carolyn said hopefully.

No, more like the Witness Elimination Program. "Not exactly. But this man doesn't have my best interests at heart," she said dryly.

"Wow. You're a spy or a criminal or something, right?" Carolyn said excitedly.

Clearly the woman had been watching too much television. "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you. No, I'm joking," Diana added when she saw the nurse's face. "But the less you know, the better off you'll be. Thank you, Carolyn, you were right to tell me. I was just feeling rather overwhelmed. Dr. Lee. . . ."

"I know already. I have to check your blood work before I can give you the chemo. It's part of my job," Carolyn explained. "Anyway, before you go, I should flush your PICC and change the dressing."

"Do all nurses have such one track minds? Oh. I said that out loud, didn't I? Fine, but can you do me a favor? Afterwards, can you let me use your computer? I need to check my email and I don't want to take my usual route home via the library in case I'm being watched," she said, extending her arm in defeat.

"You don't want to get an infection on top of everything else that's happening, do you?" Carolyn pointed out, pulling on the sterile gloves. "It won't take ten minutes."

It took her even less. Eight minutes later, Diana was seated at the clinic's computer, signing on to her Hushmail account. She typed in the lengthy code and waited for the sign-on to process. There it was. She clicked on the new message.

_This is what I know. There is an F.B.I agent missing. The name of the ASAC who is going to bring Mulder into the case is Dakota Whitney. Someone in the organization has been feeding her information about the X-Files, she's been reading his old case files. There's a paranormal aspect to the case, some old guy claiming to be having visions, so she has decided to ask the brass for permission to bring Mulder in, give him full immunity from prosecution, in exchange for his help. If she gets it, this is going to go down fast. The agent has been missing now for twenty-four hours. Here's the deal. They are going to set him up. Whitney knows nothing about it; in fact, I think she has a little crush on the guy. Take care._

Diana rolled her eyes. Of course, Liesl would needle her about her feelings for Mulder. Damn. She was going to have to make a call. There wasn't enough time to wait for an email. Then she was going to have to make a decision.

 

******

"Why are you calling me? This line is for emergencies only." The voice was tight with anger.

"It is an emergency. Don't worry, this call can't be traced. I have two problems--well, actually I have three, but only one that you can help me with." Diana waited.

"Fine. What do you need?"

A safe place. A cure for my disease. Someone to watch over me. "I need to access an email account. It's backinblackgirl23 at. . ."

"You're joking, right? She's been out of the game since, what, 2002? What do you need from that bitch anyway? You know she'll never help you."

"I need to contact her former associate," Diana insisted.

"You know he's not going to want to talk to you either."

"Dammit, Guy, I need you to listen to me. I need to know his current whereabouts and I think the only way to get it is from that account."

"Sweetheart. Relax, okay. We know where he is. We're just happy to have him out of our hair. I don't have to hack her account either. I'll just give you the password. We've been keeping tabs on those two for years. Now get rid of that phone and go get some sleep." Click.

Diana sat back. God, Guy was an ass, but he did have what she needed, although he seemed to be out of the loop on the Syndicate's latest plans for Fox. Now she just had to wait and then access her Hushmail account again. He was right. Dana Scully was not going to help her. Scully didn't trust her, and frankly, Diana didn't blame her. Fox had even less reason to trust her. He knew too much about what she had done to hurt him and not enough about what she had done to save him. Well, maybe that was something she could clear up; settle her accounts once and for all. She did need to get out of town for a while anyway. She had better dump that phone pretty quickly or she'd have everyone, including the Alien Bounty Hunter, on her tail.

"Carolyn. There is something I need you to do for me. I need you to get rid of this phone so that it can't be traced," Diana said carefully.

Carolyn's cheeks were glowing with excitement. "You really are a spy, aren't you?"

*****

Diana sat on a barstool facing the door, pretending to drink her ginger ale. She had to laugh. Though Fox liked to hide out in the country and she preferred to disappear into the city, they were a mere six hours apart. She was glad she had put on her snow tires. The snowy weather had made for an exciting drive. She patted her wig to make sure it was straight. She hated wearing the damned thing, it made her scalp itch, but seeing Fox again for the first time in nearly ten years with a bald head was unacceptable. She glanced at her watch: two o'clock. There he was, right on the money. Well, that was to be expected, he thought he was meeting Scully here. She saw his face fall when he realized Scully was not here, and then saw the shock on his face when he realized who was. He had thought she was dead, then.

"Diana. It's been a long time." How did he do that, stay that cool and unruffled? On the other hand, she who was never anything other than perfectly composed, was trembling with emotion. Damn. She needed to keep it together. She took a deep breath.

"Yes. It has, Fox. Why don't we get a table so we can talk?" There, that wasn't so hard. He helped her off the bar stool, took her arm and escorted her to a large booth at the back, waited until she was seated comfortably, then sat down next to her.

"What happened to Scully? What have you done to her?" He said in a low tone, watching the entrance out of the corner of his eye.

"It's not what you think, Fox. Dana is fine. You're the one who is in danger. That's why I've come," she said firmly. He looked different now; more masculine, maybe, more dangerous, certainly. Maybe it was the beard?

"I'm listening." He was staring at her face, at her clothing. What was he looking at? Had she changed so much? She patted her wig nervously.

"You are going to be contacted by Dana. The FBI is going to try to use her to get to you. They want your help in finding a missing FBI agent," she said quietly.

"How do you know this?" he demanded. Well, she knew he would be angry. She wasn't going to let him intimidate her into revealing her sources.

"You know I can't tell you that. I would if I could. You have to trust me on this. Just by being here, I'm taking a huge risk," she pointed out.

"Then why are you here?" he said bluntly. This wasn't going to work. She began gathering her things and gestured for him to get up so she could leave.

"Look, I need to go. I have to get back before I'm missed."

Then he touched her arm. He was so warm; even through the layers of down and wool, she could feel his warmth. "Wait. Don't go just yet. This weather is tough to drive in, even if you're used to snow. Why don't you come home with me? The weather is supposed to hold through tomorrow afternoon. Stay with me. I'll follow you back to the highway in the morning." When she looked doubtful, he added, "You took a big risk and traveled a long distance, Diana, to tell me practically nothing. I need to talk to you about this case you think I'm going to be asked to solve. Why would the Bureau come to me now after all of this time? And who wants to kill me? Haven't I been effectively neutralized? I have no access, not even to Scully. They know that, obviously, and they know where I am, if you're here."

She looked down at her hands, feeling embarrassed. Why had she ever believed she could convince him? This is Fox Fucking Mulder. He is not going to stop being who he is just because you tell him it's dangerous. It was getting on toward three, she was exhausted from the drive down and the roads were only going to get worse. He wanted her to stay, she'd stay.

"Fine. Let's go. I hope you have better heat than this place does. I can't ever seem to get warm now." She laughed a little, pulling her coat closer. "I can't believe I'm saying this but I never thought I'd miss hot flashes."

"I remember Scully was always cold too, when she was sick," he said casually. She wanted to hit him, but she knew he wasn't intending to be cruel. Was that why he was asking her to stay? Pity?

"It's that obvious." Great. Well, she would just have to work a little harder at keeping up appearances, then. "It's not what you think, but I don't want to talk about it here," she said finally.

******

She didn't remember Fox being a morning person, but she woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of him singing falsetto in the shower. Yawning, she waited until she heard his bedroom door close, and then forced herself off the couch and into the bathroom, which was much cleaner than she remembered from Fox's bachelor days. Ah, but he was expecting the fastidious Dr. Scully as a guest, now that the Syndicate's latest plan to thwart him was already in motion. God, she needed to get on the road. The last thing she wanted after all of this was to have to confront Scully. This trip had been an utter waste. Not only had she not been able to convince Fox of the danger he was facing, after all of the secrets they had shared, she still had not told him the entire truth, about what she had done to save him, and why. As surprised as he was to see her, he still hadn't asked where she had been for the past nine years, how she had survived the Syndicate's attempt on her life and where she was headed now.

She washed her face, and ran her fingers over her shorn head, with its quarter inch of stubble that had sprouted. Should she put the wig back on? Maybe just the soft knitted cap. Fox knew she was dying, there wasn't anything to hide now.

He was already mixing something together on the counter: eggs, milk, flour, baking powder and baking soda. Maple syrup? He was making her pancakes, just like he used to do when they.... She felt something give a little bit. No, that would not do. She had done what was right; she had tried to keep him safe, this time. The moment to play true confessions had passed.

She sat across the table, sipping at her coffee, watching him eat the last of four stacks of the hotcakes. How did he manage to stay so thin? "You didn't eat much," he proclaimed in between bites.

She smiled sadly. "No, I don't have much appetite since I started the chemo. The pancakes were great, though. Thank you."

"You should get some weed. Marijuana is a wonderful adjuvant treatment for cancer patients. Helps with pain, appetite, enhances mood. I'm serious, look at the literature."

She shook her head in amusement. "Fine, I'll do that. Fox, I need to get on the road. The weather is decent and it looks like your road has already been cleared. The F.B.I. will be contacting her today so you should be expecting Dr. Scully to arrive this afternoon at the latest. I'd rather not have her know that I was here."

"She told me what you did, you know, to get me away from Spender. He would have just let me die, you know that. You gave her your passkey to get in so she could save me. I thought they had murdered you. I thought you had died because you had saved my life, Diana." He cleared his throat. "I, uh, need to thank you for doing that."

Diana's eyes filled with tears. As she wiped them away, he reached out to stroke her cheek. She closed her eyes. "I've got to go."

He nodded and walked with her out to the car. She turned toward him. "Good bye, Fox. Please be careful. Remember--"

"I know," he interrupted. "They are going to use this case to draw me in, in order to kill me. They will tell me all is forgiven. The case will have paranormal undertones, which will be used as an excuse to bring me back. Something will go wrong. The plan is for me to die in the line of duty, and get a hero's burial. Scully will be allowed to continue being a doctor. This way there will be no one left to sound the alarm that the end is near and that colonization has begun. I've got it covered, Diana. Now, drive safely. And stay warm."

She nodded, and got into the car to start up the engine. He walked up to the car and tapped on the window. She rolled it down a crack.

"Diana, about the other thing, about your cancer. Just--don't give up on a miracle."

She nodded again, and headed the car toward home.

 

***

_The things we thought that we should do  
We other things have done  
But those peculiar industries  
Have never been begun --_

_The Lands we thought that we should seek  
When large enough to run  
By Speculation ceded  
To Speculation's Son --_

_The Heaven, in which we hoped to pause  
When Discipline was done  
Untenable to Logic  
But possibly the one --_

_Emily Dickinson_


End file.
